


It's the Crook of His Neck

by prettyboyporter



Series: Harringrove ficlets [12]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: It’s the crook of his neck where Billy first kisses Steve. A little spot barely uncovered by the streched neck of an old t-shirt. A junk one from the back of Steve’s drawer that he’d tugged out because he was helping Billy move that day into a little apartment.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: Harringrove ficlets [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1222898
Comments: 12
Kudos: 113





	It's the Crook of His Neck

It’s the crook of his neck where Billy first kisses Steve. A little spot barely uncovered by the streched neck of an old t-shirt. A junk one from the back of Steve’s drawer that he’d tugged out because he was helping Billy move that day into a little apartment. 

That spot was a little shiny with sweat, a tantilizing sight of skin in the midst of a brutal winter when everyone was bundled and covered and hidden under sweaters and scarfs and coats and flannels. 

Billy saw it when Steve set down a box in the kitchen and turned to peek out of the old sheets that were hung in the window in place of blinds, for now. 

Steve pulled back on the sheet and there it was, just below the wavy ends of Steve’s hair, getting longer now in the back. “Snowing like a bitch out there,” he’d said. 

Billy had waited long enough.

He’d waited through hours-long phone calls with Steve, as Steve’s voice would travel down through his ear, through his neck, straight down into his heart. Through hugs that lingered. Play fighting that ended awkwardly and shifting apart slowly. 

He’d waited through late nights at the diner when Steve had a nightmare and they silently ate greasy fries from a red plastic basket. 

He’d waited through the haze of weed, through wanting but there were others in the room and he was _scared_. 

But he couldn’t anymore. Fuck waiting. 

Billy stepped forward in his kitchen once, then twice, sidestepped the box of utensils Claudia Henderson had given him, to place his hands on Steve’s waist as Steve looked at the snow outside. 

And he kissed that spot there, salty skin under his lips, at the crook of Steve’s neck. 

"Billy," Steve said, and his fingers came up to wind in Billy’s hair, tugging him up to meet Steve’s mouth. 

It was the crook of Steve’s neck but then it was his lips. His neck. 

All of him, in Billy’s bed.

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


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